Second Chances

by Bria Marche

  Chapter Nine

  The flashing light on Abby’s phone caught her attention. Damn it, I missed a call. She listened as the message from the county clerk told her what day and time to appear in front of the judge for her name change request. Abby was more than excited. It would truly be a new beginning for her, a do-over, and in a way, a second chance to get things right. Going forward, she would determine her own fate, good or bad. She would have nobody else to fall back on and nobody else to blame. Her future rested on her, and she liked it that way.

  Today, three different handymen had appointments to give Abby a quote for the work she wanted. She said she would like to see their qualifications and read a few reviews of their work when they came by. The appointments were scheduled two hours apart, beginning at eleven a.m. The first man showed up fifteen minutes late. Not the best first impression, Abby thought when she welcomed him in. John Beck handed her his business card, mumbled something about hitting every red light in town, and followed her to the basement. He carried a clipboard with a pen, and he looked like a mild-mannered middle-aged handyman. Abby showed him the water heater that needed replacing.

  “This doesn’t look that old. Isn’t is working right?”

  “Well, yes, it works fine, but right now there are only three of us. I hope to fill this house up soon, and I don’t think a forty-gallon water heater would be adequate.”

  He gave Abby a slow, deliberate once-over, lingering far too long on her ample chest. “So what makes you so smart? Aren’t you the little lady of the house? I’d peg you to do more showing than thinking.”

  “What? Excuse me? I think I’ll show you something, Mr. Beck. The door.” Abby headed up the stairs, stomping a little harder than necessary.

  “I thought you wanted me to see the bedrooms, too,” he smirked.

  “Not anymore. I think we’re done.”

  She slammed the door behind him, hoping that wasn’t an indication of what self-employed handymen were like. With John Beck’s business card shredded and in the garbage can, Abby and Betsy had lunch on the veranda, enjoying the view of the park and people walking their dogs. “Can you believe my mom gave five million dollars to the Charleston Animal Society?” Abby stared at every size and breed of dog being walked up and down the neighboring sidewalks. “Don’t get me wrong, I love animals, but holy cow, that’s a lot of money. My mom never owned a dog in her life. That’s what blows my mind. Mittens is the only pet I ever remember having, and she’s pretty self-sufficient. Did my mom ever feed her or change her litter box that you can recall?”

  “Nope,” Betsy said, “not as long as I’ve lived here.”

  “Well, whatever… I know the money is going to a good cause, but I sure could have used some of it.”

  Abby looked up as a panel van slowed down in front of the house, with a man craning his neck out the window, looking at addresses. He found a parking spot three houses down and slid his van in behind a Volvo. He checked himself in the side mirror when he got out and walked toward the Italianate mansion.

  “That must be handyman number two,” Abby said. A crumb of bread stuck to her lip as she spoke.

  Betsy turned to respond and laughed. “If you think that guy is as hot as I do, then you better wipe the crumb off your mouth before he gets through the gate.”

  “Crap. Help me, hurry! Is it gone?”

  “Yes, it’s gone, and you look beautiful.”

  Abby adjusted her tank top and smoothed her shorts as she stood up. She met handyman number two at the gate and let him in.

  “Hi, I’m Abby. You must be Erik Christiansen. Welcome to Melrose Mansion. It’s nice to meet you.”

  He reached out and shook her hand. “Thanks. Nice to meet you, too.”

  They reached the veranda, and Abby introduced Erik to Betsy. With a firm grip, he shook her hand.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to give you a little personal background. Would it be okay if we sat for a few minutes?”

  “Of course, please.” Abby pointed to an empty chair while she took the seat next to Betsy.

  “I don’t feel I should take up your time and enter the privacy of your home until I show you my credentials. Here are a few business cards, just in case you know of anyone else who needs work done.” He set down the worn leather satchel that was slung over his shoulder and reached in. He glanced up at Abby as he handed her the cards and showed his deep dimples when he smiled. He pulled out a sheet listing jobs he had worked in the past, as well as some very favorable reviews.

  “It looks like you’ve done restoration work on some very historic buildings around Charleston. That’s a relief. I want to feel confident about the people I hire. So, Mr. Christiansen, how long have you been in this line of work?”

  “My father owned a remodeling company for over forty years. I worked side by side with him until he retired a few years back. Business slowed down a bit during the recession of 2008, but things are picking up again. I guess I’d say I’m capable of doing just about anything.”

  I bet you are, she thought as she sat with her chin in her hands, smiling at the blond god that reminded her of Chris Hemsworth. Betsy kicked her leg under the table. “Oh… okay, would you like to see what I need done?”

  “Sure, sounds great.” Erik followed Abby to the basement.

  She recited the same information she’d told boob-staring John Beck and waited for Erik’s response.

  “Makes perfect sense to me,” he said. “Nobody wants cold water in the middle of their shower. I’ll get you a quote for a seventy-five-gallon water heater. That should work fine for your needs.”

  So far, so good. “Shall we go upstairs?” Abby said.

  “Sure, lead the way.”

  She wondered if he was staring at her butt as she walked upstairs in front of him. “Here we are. I’ve already picked out the colors I like for the rooms. I guess the bathrooms ought to match, too, don’t you think?”

  “Do you have the swatches?”

  “No, sorry, they’re on my computer. I pictured a light blush to make the small rooms look bigger and sage green for the larger rooms.”

  “Are you going to furnish the rooms yourself?”

  “Yes, there’s furniture already. I just moved it out of the way for now to make painting easier.”

  “Would you mind hearing my opinion?”

  “Not at all. Please, let’s sit.” Abby led Erik to the sofa on the landing. A stained glass window behind the sofa illuminated the parquet floor with radiant slivers of color from the sun hitting the window just right.

  “That’s pretty,” he commented, pointing to the rainbow of colors on the floor. “So here’s my thought, if you don’t mind. Everyone knows white is kind of boring, but ivory, on the other hand, is a soft, subtle, rich color. These days, the trend is to paint most of the walls the same color and then accent with eye-popping rugs, curtains, artwork, and throw pillows. You wouldn’t believe how much you can change a room’s appearance with accent pieces. And here’s another thing that might interest you.”

  “Yes, what would that be?”

  “Well… if all the walls were the same color, I could get the paint in bulk. That would save you a few hundred dollars.”

  “It would? Okay, I’d be interested in hearing your quote. I have one more handyman coming by, just to be honest with you. I was shopping for the best work and the best quotes. Can you get back to me tomorrow with the total cost including labor and an estimate of how long the job would take?”

  “Sure, that’s no problem.” Erik pulled up her number on his cell phone screen. “Is this the best number to reach you at?”

  “Yes, it is. So, I’ll wait for your call before I make any decisions. Thank you, Mr. Christiansen.”

  “Thank you, Abby…?”

  “It’s Taylor, Abby Taylor. I’m the property manager for the Melrose house.”

  “Liar,” Betsy whispered as they watched Erik walk back toward his van. “You’re still Abby Melrose until when?”


  “Until next Tuesday. After that, I’ll legally be Abby Taylor, and nobody will know this house belongs to me. The next time I talk to Attorney Lewis, I’m going to tell him I want the house put into the Melrose Trust with the rest of my inheritance.”

  “So what do you think of Erik Christiansen?”

  “You mean, what do I think of his credentials?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. We’re talking about his credentials, which are pretty amazing in my opinion.” Betsy smirked.

  Abby shook her head at Betsy’s audacity. “You’re on a fast elevator to hell, and I’m right there next to you, but I agree. His credentials are fine, smokin’ hot fine.”

  The last handyman showed up at three p.m. He seemed honest and hardworking, but their conversation didn’t flow well. Having just arrived from Guatemala, Jose Garcia was difficult to understand. As far as Abby could make out from their conversation, he had recently moved to South Carolina to help his brother, Manuel, work in the family remodeling business. Since Manuel was already booked through the summer, he had given the appointment to Jose. Abby showed Jose everything that needed to be done, and she thought he said he’d call back tomorrow with the quote. She sat in the backyard with a glass of sweet tea. Her mind was on Erik Christiansen, Remy, and Charlotte. Having been taken for a fool already, Abby was gun-shy and far from ready to get involved with any man again. She was still reeling with pain from the betrayal of her own husband and mother. Next time, I’ll be wiser and much more cautious, if there ever is a next time.

  Startled by the back door opening, Abby jumped, returning to reality. Melanie cracked open a beer and sat down next to her. “I heard you had some menfolk stop by today,” she joked. “Betsy said you were salivating over one named Erik. Talk to me, girl.”

  “Oh, stop it, for Pete’s sake. Betsy was the one salivating. Yes, he’s hot, and handsome, and nice, but he’s a guy, and guys aren’t to be trusted… yet.”

  “You know you don’t mean that.”

  “I do until my legal name change takes effect. Anyway, after dinner, will you help us move more of the furniture? Some of those antique pieces weigh a ton.”

  “Sure thing. Do you know what we’re having for dinner? I’m starving.”

  Betsy came outside with her own glass of tea, a dish towel slung over her shoulder, and sat down. “Here’s the menu for tonight. We’re having hot dogs sliced up in mac ’n cheese. Sorry, but that’s all I can whip together with the lack of food in this house. We need to go to the grocery store tonight after dinner, or there won’t be any food for tomorrow. With Mel having the only car, and no delivery service anymore, we’ll have to shop at least once a week to keep this place stocked with groceries.”

  “Sorry, Betsy, I had no idea we were that low on food. How much did Mom used to spend on groceries? We’ll have to budget our food expenses until we get some renters in here to help pay for things.”

  “Well, your mom was over the top. She’d spend five hundred dollars a week on food, but she did entertain a lot, too. If I make casseroles and pasta dishes, we can get by with fifty bucks a week for now.”

  “That should work. Until I see where the quotes come in tomorrow, we’ll just get the necessities tonight.”

  ***

  “I see… uh-huh. Okay, I’ll have to give that some thought and let you know, Mr. Christiansen. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly,” Abby said.

  “Have the other quotes come in? I could always match them if you think my prices are too high. We are talking about six bedrooms and six bathrooms, plus the price of a seventy-five-gallon water heater and installation. I’ve discounted the paint since I can get it in bulk if we go with ivory for all the rooms. You said you’re the property manager for the home, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Nervousness kicked in since she wasn’t sure what he was going to say next. Abby wasn’t lying about being the property manager, but she was spinning the truth a little. Walking from room to room, she estimated the quantity of paint needed to completely overhaul the bedrooms and bathrooms. After all, every room had a twelve-foot ceiling.

  “So what are the intentions? For the rooms, I mean?”

  “Oh…well… the owners want them rented out. I guess they envision a B-and-B sort of, except with long-term leases instead.”

  “So a more dignified version of a boardinghouse? That mansion is going to be turned into a boardinghouse?”

  “Yes… I guess so, except with quality people. I have to interview the applicants myself, so I’m going to be very selective. I don’t want to alarm the neighbors with sketchy-looking characters coming and going. I’ve been given instructions to check everyone’s work history, income, and criminal activity. I’m sure it will be fine. It’s just the quote is a little higher than I expected.”

  “Didn’t the owners give you a spending allowance for remodeling?”

  “Yes, but only a certain amount for the painting and water heater. I think they’re bartering for some of the other work they want done.” Why the heck did I just say that? Words spewed out of Abby’s mouth that didn’t even make sense to her. She had no idea what she was saying at that point. All she cared about was protecting her identity and getting the work done as cheaply as possible.

  “That’s interesting… they’re open to bartering. I’m doing some work right now in Charleston. Would you mind if I stopped over? I have an idea you might want to run by them. I could be there at lunchtime, say in twenty minutes?”

  “I guess I’m free then. See you soon.”

  Crap! “Betsy, I need your help. Hurry!” Abby’s screech echoed through the upstairs hallway.

  “Where’s the fire? What’s going on? I just started making lunch. Today’s menu consists of peanut butter and peach jelly sandwiches, Miss Melrose. Would you care to dine alfresco or indoors, ma’am?” Betsy kidded.

  “I don’t have time to eat. Wrap the sandwiches up for now so they don’t dry out. Erik Christiansen is stopping by in twenty minutes. I have to get ready. I need to take a shower. Go in my room and pick out something cute for me to wear. I don’t give a crap what it is. Just make sure it isn’t sexy.”

  “Man, you’re boring as hell. Fine. Hurry up. I’ll lay shorts and a cute top out on your bed. Do I need to hide or something?”

  “Yes, but first, put a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses on the veranda. It will make me look more professional.”

  “Whatever… I’ll be watching TV in my room. Let me know when he leaves.”

  Abby made it to the veranda and sat down just as she saw Erik’s van turn the corner off King Street. She took two deep cleansing breaths, exhaled on her hand, and took a whiff. Good, my breath doesn’t stink. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, checking for perspiration, and took a quick gulp of the tea. Here he comes. I thought Remy was gorgeous, but damn, Erik Christiansen makes my heart pound triple time.

  “Hello, Mr. Christiansen, it’s nice to see you again. Please, let me get the gate for you.”

  Abby strolled down the brick sidewalk to the wrought-iron gate and released the latch. He followed her up the five steps to the veranda and sat down after she did.

  “There was something you wanted to discuss other than the quote?”

  “Yes, but first, please call me Erik. I’m not used to being formal. I realize that’s part of the southern charm and all, but it actually makes me uncomfortable. I’m a laid-back kind of guy, other than work, I mean. I work hard and get the job done.”

  She laughed nervously. “I bet you do, Erik.” Why the hell did I just say that? “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. Anyway, what’s on your mind?”

  His incredible smile formed slowly and deliciously. She was fixated on his face. Abby stared at his gorgeousness. Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head, and her mouth hung open as if the hinges had snapped.

  “Miss Taylor?”

  “What? Oh… Erik, please call me Abby. I’m sort of informal myself. So you wanted to tell me so
mething?”

  “Well, I do have a suggestion that might work out perfectly for both of us.”

  You’re going to make mad, passionate love to me right here on the veranda? “Really? Now you’ve piqued my curiosity. Go ahead.” She handed him a glass of sweet tea as he began.

  “I don’t live in Charleston, but most of my work is done here since this is the largest city in the area. My home is in Orangeburg, about an hour and a half north, depending on traffic. My folks own a duplex there, and I live on one side of it. With them being on a fixed income since my dad retired, I’ve suggested many times that I should move out so they can rent the other side. What if I bartered my painting services for a place to stay for a few months? I can stay in one of the smaller bedrooms and get the work done pretty quickly since I’d be here anyway. It would help me out, too, saving me that long drive into Charleston every day. I’ll do all the painting we discussed and the water heater for three month’s room and board.”

  Abby’s brain was trying to calculate the numbers as quickly as she could. That would come to only three thousand dollars in rent, but his quote was for five thousand dollars, which Abby couldn’t afford. “It sounds like you’d be getting the short end of the stick. Rent for one of the small rooms is one thousand dollars a month, which includes breakfast and dinner.”

  “Okay then, how about I stay for five months? There wouldn’t be any out-of-pocket expenses for the owners, and if anything else did come up, well… I’m only a bedroom away.”

  “I’d have to consult with them and let you know. I have a confession to make first.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I live here, too. Would that be a problem for you?” Her face blushed bright red.

  “I assumed you did. Most property managers live on-site. But that isn’t a problem in my book.” He finished the glass of tea and glanced at the watch on his tanned left wrist. “I think my lunch break is over. So you’ll discuss my proposition with the owners and let me know?”

  “Of course I will. How soon could you move in and begin the work?”